the ghost next to me won't wake up,
the demons in the screen won't pick up
and the ghouls that live above me beat me up.
i'll refresh my email,
again and again.
i'll refresh my words,
just to make sure i was clear.
only to find out i was nothing but spam, junk, trash.
i'd rather be unread and invisible
than read and forgotten.
i didn't know it would come to this, but this is for you:
i'm sorry for congratulating you on your disastrous career. i'm sorry for wishing you a happy birthday when no one else did. i'm sorry for listening when the world silenced you. i'm sorry for writing you novels when everyone else wrote you sentences. i'm sorry for blindly supporting all your choices while everyone else threw rocks at you.
as austen said, "I AM QUIET BUT I AM NOT BLIND."
you didn't get the memo though, did you?
i'll apologize one last time:
i am truly sorry for caring. i am sorry for raining on your desert.
what do i know?
maybe you like living a dry life.
i've gone through enough world war.
i cannot be burdened by your pixelated archive of nothingness.